


Mr. Monk and the Vampire

by doobieace



Category: Monk (TV)
Genre: Bloodlust, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Multi, Protective Natalie, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Repression, Takes place after 8x07 "Voodoo Curse" and 8x08 "Mr. Monk Goes to Group Therapy", Therapy, part case fic and part character exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doobieace/pseuds/doobieace
Summary: A mysterious multi-homicide case suddenly gets more complicated when Monk and Natalie are kidnapped by an apparent vampire, and Monk is attacked. Can they figure out what is happening to Monk and solve the case in time?Relationship tags, warnings, and rating may change for later chapters.
Relationships: Adrian Monk & Natalie Teeger, Adrian Monk/OC
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love the show, the characters, and its balance of humor, witty dialogue, clever cases, and emotional depth. This is my disclaimer that I don't own any of it. This story is a WIP, so I'm not sure how many chapters there will be quite yet, but it's actively taking shape. I also have a shorter, but even more angsty fic coming up in addition to this one. 
> 
> Only when writing a story for this fandom for the first time did I realize how hard it can be to write Monk! A lot of what he does is unself-conscious compulsive behavior and repression, lol, which isn't easy to translate into thoughts. (As Dr. Kroger once put it in 4x11, Monk has "trouble seeing himself objectively.") But I hope my writing is capable of expressing in words at least some of the emotion and physical tics he is so good at expressing nonverbally. Feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!

The San Francisco Police Department always stepped up their game during a multi-homicide case. It was late August when men and women of seemingly unconnected backgrounds had started going missing. Weeks later, some of them turned up dead with cut throats, leaving behind a perplexing mystery.

At last, they had gotten a lead on the killer—or killers'—lair. The hope was that some of the missing victims would still be alive inside.

"Why do you think there's more than one killer?" Natalie asked Monk in the car, driving behind the squad cars. They were going to an abandoned warehouse along the water. Natalie was following from a distance, and she would park several feet away from the scene. The armed cops could sweep the place before she would let Mr. Monk anywhere near it.

"We know the two most recent victims were found together, even though background checks indicated that they most likely never met before they went missing. They appeared to have the same M. O. with the same neck wounds. The M. O. would seem to indicate that only one killer was involved, and kidnapped the women merely on different days," Monk explained. He suddenly paused, and leaned forward, his eyes widening as he noticed something. He pulled out a wipe and began scrubbing at a smudge on the windshield.

"But the actual cause of death was different for both victims. Blunt trauma to the head for Marissa Jones, and drowning for Jane Doe," Monk continued distractedly. "Jones was evidently attacked by a right-handed woman in heeled boots."

"The muddy footprints," Natalie said, nodding in remembrance.

"Exactly. But Jane Doe," Monk grit his teeth and scrubbed harder at the glass, looking like he would break his fingers from the pressure he was applying—"Jane Doe could only have been attacked by a man that could carry her all the way down the road from the abandoned truck to the pier."

"The problem is that the missing people seemed to only have contact with or last be seen with that mystery man," Natalie continued the thought, since Monk had gone quiet. "Maybe the heel prints were a coincidence, or the prints of another victim that was forced to go along."

"The Captain said the same thing," Monk said, visibly distressed. He leaned back in his seat and gazed at the windshield. He turned to look at Natalie helplessly. "It's on the outside of the glass."

When they pulled up to the building, Natalie and Monk stepped out of the car, but watched from afar as the police approached the warehouse, guns drawn and flashlights cutting through the night's humid late summer air.

The first officers went ahead into the building. A few minutes passed.

As they watched the police, Monk picked up his thought. "It could be a cult like the Captain suggested. One ring leader manipulating his victims, while killing only some of the others. But something just doesn't seem to fit right."

"Hence the backup," Natalie gestured, folding her arms. "I wouldn't want to meet this maniac in a dark alley."

Monk thought about the disturbing wounded necks of the two dead women. Strangulation and heavy laceration; but only applied postmortem. Why the overkill? What were the killers covering up? Monk stared at the smudge on the outside of the windshield.

After the sweep, the Captain stuck his head out the door and announced the area was secure.

"Looks like they left in a hurry," Stottlemeyer said, gesturing Monk and Natalie inside.

The warehouse was like a dark cavern. It had a high ceiling veiled in darkness with rows of support beams, and seemed mostly empty. The cement floor was coated with dirt and sawdust with haphazard footprints everywhere. Police with flashlights searched the corners and outside of the building. Monk started to scan the area, peering through his fingers. To the far light of the wide room, flashlights shone with interest into half a dozen empty wooden crates.

A shout far across the warehouse cried out, "Over here!"

The detectives came to the back of the warehouse. Three, four sleeping bags were in a heap near the back exit.

"Squatters?" Monk asked, squinting at the sleeping bags. Natalie leaned in. Nearby, police were rummaging through a wood pile. An officer picked up what looked like some discarded folding chairs. Monk leaned over one of the chairs on the dirty floor. Scratch marks, dark stains...

"We have blood here!" Randy called out from outside the back entrance. Officers rushed outside.

"Here too," Monk said, and the Captain bent down to look. Monk pointed at the arms of the chair. "See the wear here marked in the wood? I think someone was being tied down."

"God," Captain muttered. "The chaffing on Jane Doe's wrists." Monk nodded grimly.

Outside, the dewy grass stretched for about 40 feet before hitting the water. The first quarter moon lit the calm water behind them. Natalie was regretting wearing heels as she felt the cold wet grass and the slight sinking feeling of mud sucking at her feet. She peeked at Monk, but he seemed unfazed; instead, his face was pensive and searching as they all stepped outside.

Everyone trod carefully on the slight hill. Officers spanned out far along the shore. Randy was gesturing back and forth with his flashlight: blood gleamed dark and eerie on the wet ground.

"The Cult Killers made a sacrifice right here, in the full moonlight..." Randy mused.

"We're not calling them that, Randy," the Captain sighed. "And it's not a full moon."

"Yeah, I know," Randy hastily added. "But, you know, they probably did it during the last full moon. That's when cults do ritual sacrifices like that. Summer solstice, winter solstice, it all has significance to them."

The Captain circled around the bloody ground. "So they got the tip that we were coming and ran like bats out of hell," the Captain said. "And they took along at least one body to dispose of. Call in a recovery team to search the water for any bodies," he told Randy, who jotted down the note.

"The victim, or victims, may not have been dead," Monk said. One of his hands was outstretched, following the path of the long blood trail as far as they could see. "There's a lot of blood, but the path is so worn—look how the grass is uneven and torn in spots—there may have been several people dragged along here."

"And dead people don't bleed," Randy added.

"Wait, so there are critically injured people being forced around by this cult? Why?" Natalie asked.

"I don't think it's by choice." Monk looked to Natalie, then the Captain. 

Stottlemeyer's jaw set. That made his theory of a cult less likely. Members of a cult might kill at the direction of their leader, or even injure themselves willingly. In contrast, getting tied to chairs and dragged around looked a lot less like cult activity and a lot more like kidnapping, torture, and serial murder. What a headache; the psychology of a cult was easier to understand than a dangerous lunatic working alone. 

“At least we're a lot closer than we were before," Stottlemeyer said aloud. "We were this close. Next time we'll get the bastards."

Police officers came running up the hill. "Captain! We see two, maybe three bodies out in the water!"

The rescue team arrived within a half hour, and they went out in a boat to gather the victims. CPR was attempted to no avail: all three were deceased. The bodies were laid out on the shore, two men and a woman.

Monk and Natalie hung back as the police rushed around, collecting evidence and setting up the crime scene with standing bright lights. "It's so horrible," Natalie said. "Who would do this?"

The Captain jogged back up to them. "Thanks for coming along so late. The boys are going to do some forensic work, but our work is done here for now. We'll see where we are in the morning."

Monk nodded and they looked over at the bodies once more, but then Monk's eye caught something. He tilted his head and walked forward toward the first man. There were two cuts along his neck, and no bruising. Hardly any of the damage the last two victims had. With the intense curiosity of a budding hypothesis, Monk focused closer on the neck. Two puncture wounds on the left, at the place of the carotid artery. A few inches below were another two puncture wounds, but they were barely visible under the slashing scar of the knife wound.

Monk turned his head to the other two victims.

"What is it?" The Captain asked.

"Why the excessive neck wounds? It was harder to tell with the other victims, but it's clearer with these three.” Monk pointed to his findings. "These cuts were rushed. They didn't have enough time to dispose of the bodies. I think the cuts here were meant to cover these smaller marks. Once you look for them, the small puncture marks can be seen, even with the cuts running through to hide them."

"So the victims were stabbed first, then mutilated. This case gets weirder and weirder," Stottlemeyer said.

"I still think it's a cult," Randy said.

Monk frowned. The wounds didn't look like stabbing from a knife or any other instrument. They looked more like...bite marks.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, they headed back to the station. The Captain called to confirm that all three of the victims were people reported missing in the last two weeks. When they got to the morgue, the medical examiner confirmed Monk's suspicion from the previous night: all of the victims had been killed through blood loss made through the puncture wounds, and any extra bruising and lacerations were inflicted postmortem.

Monk, Natalie, Randy, and the Captain walked out more confused than they had been going in.

“What is going on here?” Stottlemeyer muttered. “Two of these recent victims were a homeless man and woman who may have known each other, but when we checked into the middle-aged man, he’s a lawyer with real estate in the city. He makes big money.”

“Marissa Jones was a truck driver,” Natalie added. 

“Anything further on Jane Doe?” Monk asked. “Has anyone come to identify the body, or…?”  
Randy flipped through his notebook. “We’re still looking into it. As far as I can tell, the new victims don’t help us establish a pattern.”

“The perp was picking victims randomly,” the Captain summed up sullenly.

“Yeah,” Randy said. “Back to square one.”

"I want to go back to the crime scene to see if we missed something," Monk said. "Something that can help make sense of all this."

"Some sense is what we could use right about now," Stottlemeyer sighed. "Go on ahead. Randy and I are waiting for the psychological analysis profile to come through, to get a better idea of what kind of wackjob we're dealing with. Afterwards we're going to start tracking down and interviewing any family members and acquaintances of the latest victims. You can meet us then."

Monk nodded. As the Captain wrote the address in his notepad and handed it to Natalie, who folded it in her purse, Monk was suddenly absorbed in tapping the two lamps along the secretary's desk. He knew them by heart, and hardly needed to look at them. Natalie smiled to herself, remembering the time he had been blind temporarily and still tapped them.

"And give us a call!" The Captain called after them. "I know you carry your new phone with you Monk, Natalie told me!"

Monk glowered at Natalie. "Why you got me that thing last Christmas, I'll never know."

"A couple friends pitched in, Mr. Monk, including the Captain. You need your own cell phone," she teased, tugging his sleeve affectionately. "It's the 21st century!"

"I have a landline, and I don't need a cellular device in my pocket—you always have yours!" He gestured to the outline of her flip phone in the front pocket of her purse.

"That's not the point, I'm not always with you," Natalie said, and her tone shifted from exasperation to nervousness. "Besides, you remember that time you were buried alive?"

"Twice," Monk replied sullenly.

"Yeah, exactly. Or what if something happened and you blacked out, and woke up not knowing where you were?"

"Pay phones," Monk suggested weakly, but his voice shrank from the look Natalie gave him.

"Listen, I know you're not a big fan of technology, especially such newfangled, outrageous things as cell phones. But you need it, in case of emergencies. You don't actually have to call the Captain," Natalie added to mollify him. Monk's face was pinched as if just the thought of opening a flip phone caused him pain, probably dreading the confusion and frustration the attempt would cause him. "Mr. Monk, promise you'll at least keep it on you?"

"Alright, alright," Monk said, walking forward again toward the front doors, his hands fidgeting. "We should stop at the apartment anyway since I need to shower."

"What? Mr. Monk, I thought you stopped taking midday showers years ago," Natalie said, following behind, holding her purse closer as her heels clicked on the tiles. "I was proud of you for going down to only two per day.”

"That's because I increased the time of both showers, to make up for the skipped one. My first shower today was cut into by five minutes, so I need to make up for it!” Monk opened the door and turned back to Natalie, holding the door open, meanwhile gesturing urgently to her that he needed a wipe. “It’ll be quick!”

* * *

Later they finally made it back to the warehouse. In the sunny brightness of the day, the building seemed bigger. The water where the victims had been found gleamed benignly in the daylight, oblivious to the human misdeeds that had taken place there. Natalie warily walked on the gravel beside Monk as he looked around. They went around the building instead of through it, directly to the crime scene. Police tape had been erected, and a police car was stationed nearby; they waved to the officers on guard duty.

After tracing the path of blood on the grass, frowning in thought, Monk moved his hands to the doors of the warehouse back exit, and looked up the wall of the building. Suddenly his head cocked to the side. "Natalie."

She came over, following his line of sight toward the roof of the building. "Does that look like blood to you?"

Natalie squinted. It was a smudge alright, brownish, maybe brownish red. "I'm not sure."

"Is there a ladder?"

"Not that I can see."

"There might be a ladder around here somewhere. We should tell the Captain and let him know the police should look for one."

"You wouldn't want to go up there, would you?"

Monk made a choking sound that turned into a panicked chuckle. "Of course not." He cleared his throat, and then gestured at the roof. "But the killers might have."

"Well there was that wood pile, right? We should check that out," Natalie suggested.

They entered the warehouse and it seemed just as shadowy and cave-like as it was the previous night. The daylight hardly stretched inside by a few feet before being swallowed up by darkness.

Monk produced a thin flashlight from his jacket pocket and stepped inside with one smooth motion. Darkness was one of the few things he wasn't afraid of.

"It was just a few feet from the doors," Monk was saying as Natalie opened the warehouse doors as wide as she could to let in more light.

"Natalie, look!" He called out. "A skylight, in the middle of the room! Of course we didn't notice it last night. That could be the key to how fast they escaped."

"How do you figure?" Natalie asked, coming up beside him in the dim lighting.

"I'm not sure yet. But if they had a ladder or some other means to get to the roof, they might not have left at all," Monk theorized, hands mid-air in consideration with the intensity of a conductor preparing to set the orchestra in motion for a symphony; as if with the right wave of his hands he could bring into being a recreation of the events of the night before. He gestured out the back doors. "They heard the police coming, disposed of the victims, and hid right above us, maybe dragging the ladder up with them."

Natalie's heart pounded in fear at the idea. Serial killers, just above their heads in the darkness?

And then a cool voice broke the quiet. "Very clever, detective."

 _Smack. Thump._ Monk gasped in pain. Natalie saw a blur of a hooded figure, a shovel, and then a sickening _Wham!_ that reverberated from the back of her head. She crumpled down to the floor and her pain bled into unconsciousness.

* * *

Monk awoke slowly. He felt that he was sitting in a hard-backed chair, and his wrists were tied, pinning down his arms. His legs also felt restrained tightly, as if by rope. A headache was blooming at his right temple.

"Natalie..." He moaned. He opened his eyes a fraction of an inch.

"I'm afraid your friend isn't available at the moment. My brother Orion hit her over the head a bit too hard."

Monk stiffened in his chair and peered ahead into the dimly lit room. Monk could tell it was a different room than the warehouse, however—this cement floor was clean and the air was stuffy. He had a sense that this was a smaller room just from the claustrophobic tingles he was getting at the back of his neck.

Gripped by rising trepidation, Monk’s breath caught in his throat in a repressed gasp. He tugged at the restraints on his wrists. Gradually his eyes adjusted to the dim lamp light, and he saw Natalie lying on the floor a few feet away from him.

"Natalie! Natalie wake up!" His voice cracked and died halfway through. A woman stepped forward into the lamp light. 

She wore a dark cloak with the hood down, but jeans and boots showed through beneath. Dark hair flourished in waves over her shoulders, and long eyelashes complimented sharp cheekbones. The light cast dramatic shadows across her sculpted face. Monk stared at her wide-eyed, his panic mounting.

"She'll be fine, detective. She'll wake up eventually, like you did. But we're having a talk first."

"Who-who are you? What do you want?" Monk said, his throat dry and tight.

The woman started to circle Monk in his chair. "My name is Circinnia. What's yours?"

"You're the guy," Monk realized with sudden conviction. He sat up and tried to pull himself together. "You, and your friend. A man and a woman of different heights and shoe sizes that could kidnap and murder those five people. Those heeled boots seem like they could match the prints at the first crime scene." He nodded to her feet.

Circinnia continued to circle Monk, her face composed yet gaze piercing.

"But why? Why them? For such ritualistic actions, there must be a reason," Monk said, analysis and curiosity temporarily overcoming his fear.

Circinnia stopped and leaned down, bringing her face inches away from Monk's neck, and then her mouth by his ear. Monk froze instinctively, like a gazelle suddenly catching itself in a lion’s stare and seconds away from being attacked. "Because they smelled good."

Circinnia pulled back. She smiled unpleasantly with pearly white teeth. "Like you."

She held up a black wallet, Monk's wallet, which she had either grabbed just then, or when he was knocked out. She flipped it open. "Adrian Monk." She smiled in satisfaction and tossed the wallet to the floor, inches from Natalie.

Monk’s whole body remained tensed. He spared a glance down to Natalie on the floor a few feet away, and then he stared back at Circinnia. His brain was like a computer that got frozen in the middle of solving a puzzle.

“I know you and your detective friends think you’re making progress, but you’re wrong. You are all far out of your depth.”

She started to unbutton his white collared shirt; his jacket had long since disappeared. One button, two, three, four...Monk's hands clenched, and he tried to pull away from her. He began pulling uselessly back and forth against the restraints along his torso as he watched her with growing distress, anxious that he couldn’t fix his buttons.

"Adrian," Cricinnia crooned. "I'm going to ask you to relax, okay?"

Her hands rested on his shoulders as she leaned forward, placed her lips to his neck like a gentle kiss, and suddenly bit deep into the flesh with two piercing canine teeth.

Monk shouted out. His hands tightly gripped the chain's armrests before struggling madly against the restraints. He struggled to find his voice, to find any words, but instead he could only listen in rapt horror to his heart’s wild beating and his strained panting against the sharp stabbing pain in his throat.

"Shhh...." Circinnia murmured at his throat. She caressed the back of his head, the curls at the nape of his neck. Monk breath hitched wetly, and he shuddered at her touch. He could still feel the teeth on his skin.

An eternity or maybe just seconds later, she pulled away and her sharp blue eyes latched onto his. "I know it's scary." Her lips were covered in dark red blood. Monk’s eyes locked on to the sight and he whimpered in terror. 

"I usually don't do this, but I don't want your fear making the blood so salty,” Circinnia said as casually as if they were discussing how she liked her scotch on the rocks. “Not that I don't mind salty and sweet." She grinned up at him. "Let's just take the edge off..."

Her mouth was suddenly on his, both hands firmly gripping his face. He tried to keep his mouth tightly shut, especially as he horrifically tasted the copper blood on her lips, but she persistently worked open his mouth with her tongue. Monk squeezed his eyes shut in mortification. A sickening flavor started to appear in the kiss, a bitter tang. In moments, his head started to get foggy. Against his will, his body relaxed in the chair. His heart shuddered to slow beats, like a car speeding at 80 mph that suddenly hit the brakes and was forced to slow down to a strained crawl.

Monk shivered and his head lolled, his arms now sluggish in their efforts to pull at the restraints.

"There you go, Sweet and Salty," Circinnia laughed, patting him on the cheek. He looked at her unevenly, confusion filling his senses. She kissed him again, met with no resistance, and then went back to his neck.

Monk's eyes shut tight, tears squeezing out. His mind could barely pull together the realization that he was going to die. The monster kept draining him, her sharp teeth stuck in his neck and making a sickening sucking sound with every bit of blood she drew.

Monk thought of Natalie. Natalie, Natalie. Help me. Monk's eyes widened in fear. Oh god, he thought, Natalie. This can't happen to her. He weakly tried to move his legs, but those were tied to the chair too. Circinnia rubbed his arm and thigh rhythmically with her sucking, and Monk tried not to think what that was doing to his fallible body.

"Natalie," Monk whispered. Louder, louder. He coughed forcefully. He rocked the chair, and with all his might and the sluggish dead weight of his drugged body he heaved himself to one side. Monk successfully knocked them both over to the ground, Circinnia tumbling to the floor, and the chair dug painfully into his side.

"Natalie!" Monk shouted at the top of his voice. "Natalie, wake up!" He saw Natalie start to stir and her arm move a little, a sign that she was okay! Or was it his imagination? His vision blurred the harder he tried to focus on her.

"So feisty!" Circinnia gasped. She growled, and then hauled him back up, chair and all. Monk panted and gazed at her dizzily. He was struggling to hold on to something in the fog.

In a sweeping motion Circinnia pulled back her cloak and straddled him in the chair. She licked a long line from his chest to neck, catching a stream of blood. Her pelvis pushed into his.

"What's this?" Circinnia asked delightedly, looking down at his lap. She rolled her hips and watched him smugly as he shuddered. "Getting excited? I like to think it's my natural effect, though," she leaned in conspiratorially, "I did slip you something." And she tapped one of her fangs.

Monk welled with shame and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"You know, Adrian Monk..." Circinnia sighed. She tapped her lips in thought and smiled. "I might just keep you."

With a long red nail, she cut her wrist deeply. Blood oozed from the cut. Monk watched this like it were a horror movie from far away happening to somebody else, even as she pressed her wrist to his mouth. He groaned in protest and tried to turn his head to the side, mouth tightly closed, but she held him in place, forcing his mouth open. 

She gripped his throat with her other hand and leaned his face up to better pour the blood into his mouth. It was foul, bitter, and black, and Monk gagged around the horrible liquid. He thought that he would rather choke on it than swallow. Circinnia’s hard hand on his neck was almost suffocating him. 

"Get away from him!" someone yelled. In moments, the woman was off of him, and Monk gasped for air. He coughed raggedly and spat out what he could of the foul liquid.

A loud thump echoed in the room.

"Mr. Monk?" A voice suddenly cried. She came closer. "Oh God—"

Natalie. Natalie. "Natalie," Monk whimpered. 

Shaky hands grasped his and felt the ropes around his wrists. "Oh god, okay, let's get these off. Oh—" Cloth pressed to his neck. "Okay, I'm going to call someone. Don't worry. I'll get help."

Monk struggled to stay conscious—it was so difficult all of a sudden.

"Natalie," Monk breathed. "Her brother, Orion—" He groaned and winced at the pain in his skull.

Orion, the other killer, was closer than either of them knew.


	3. Chapter 3

Monk's head started lolling to the side, and Natalie was dangerously close to letting her fear overcome her. She was using her blouse to stem the blood flow from Monk's neck, and her tank top stuck to her with sweat. Everything had been happening so fast, bombarding her senses. It was hard to breathe in the stuffy room. Where were they? How could they escape? But first she had to untie Monk—she knelt and tugged frantically at the ropes around his ankles, one hand awkwardly trying to hold in place the cloth at Monk’s neck. 

Monk looked like hell, disheveled and deathly pale. Most of his shirt was unbuttoned, and two bloody wounds on his neck leaked down to stain his white collar crimson red. His eyes were closed, and around his mouth was a blackish red smear. 

Natalie rubbed his knee. "Stay with me, Mr. Monk." He was barely conscious. She stood back up and patted him on the cheek. He barely opened his eyes. She shook his shoulder. "Mr. Monk, stay with me! We need to get out of here."

Natalie glanced behind her, but the dark-haired woman was out cold. Natalie had taken that shovel and swung it as hard as she could at the creep's head. Thank God she took softball in school and it still paid off years later.

The bonds finally loose from Monk’s arms and legs, Natalie struggled to lift him from the chair. She gripped him around the waist and then under the arms to try and pull him up. "A little help? Mr. Monk?" Monk moaned, and his eyes were still squeezed shut.

She got him to a standing position, trying to bear the weight of Monk leaning on her. She dug her phone out of her pocket with her free hand.

"Hello, 911?! Me and my friend have been kidnapped—"

"What are you doing?!" A man's voice called out in fury.

Natalie jerked her head around to see a tall, menacing bald man rush towards her. "What did you do to Circinnia, you dog?"

He grabbed Natalie by the neck and arm, forcing her to drop Monk. He fell with a thud into a heap on the hard floor. Gasping for breath, Natalie pried at the man's hands around her neck as he lifted her off the ground with superhuman strength.

"I'll drain you till there's not a drop of blood in you," he snarled.

Natalie cried out in fear as he swung his clawed hand to her face. 

"Not so fast!" _BOOM._ Light burst into the room as doors exploded open and feet banged across the floor. 

"Get down!" _Bang, bang bang!_

Natalie fell to the floor with a pained "oomf!" as the man dropped her. Police officers flooded the space, guns cocking. Handcuffs were already clicking onto the mysterious man, who had been apparently shot, because he was moaning in rage and agony. The unconscious woman was being hauled up and carried away. They started to nudge the man up onto his feet too.

Natalie squinted in the sudden brightness and confusion. She gasped for air and kneeled protectively over Monk, who laid limp on the floor. She cupped his cheek, his skin pale and cold to the touch.

"Natalie!" The Captain's voice called out.

"Oh thank God!" Natalie cried, leaping to hug the Captain. Randy followed close behind, speaking into a radio, coordinating with the unit outside.

"Are you two okay?" Stottlemeyer was already kneeling down by Monk, the worry as evident in his voice as a knife in the gut. Barely perceptible was Monk’s breathing, which came in shallow, uneven gasps.

"I'm fine," Natalie said, her voice pained, hardly taking her eyes off Monk. "But he needs a doctor. It looks like he lost a lot of blood.”

Natalie pressed down again on her blouse she had been using to stem the flow of blood at Monk's neck. The Captain propped up Monk's head in his hands.

"Monk? Buddy?" He felt his pulse. "Not good," the Captain muttered. "Call an ambulance!" he shouted to a nearby officer.

"It's on the way!"

“What happened?” The Captain asked.

"The woman was on top of Monk, hurting him, so I got her the hell off of him by hitting her with a shovel,” Natalie said. The Captain looked like he was going to give her a medal right there. “I called 911, and Monk said something about a brother, Ryan—? Orion. And he appeared out of nowhere and attacked me.”

“They’re siblings,” the Captain breathed in realization. “Killer siblings.”

An outburst of shooting and shouting erupted outside. Randy ran back into the room from outside. “The male suspect is making a run for it!” 

The Captain bolted up. He barked at a nearby cop, “Stay with Natalie and Monk and make sure they get on the ambulance!”

Other officers ran out with Randy and the Captain as the latter shouted into his radio for all units to take pursuit. Natalie nervously watched them go, firmly holding down the increasingly blood-soaked shirt to her friend’s white neck.

* * *

When Monk awoke, he was aware of the light and the dryness of his mouth. His head and neck throbbed in dull stabs of pain. He opened his eyes slightly, and he squinted against the painfully bright light of the room.

He groaned. A warm hand from suddenly grasped his. “Mr. Monk?” 

“Natalie?” Monk asked hopefully, squinting to the left in the direction of her soft voice.

“Yes! Oh I’m so glad you’re awake! The doctors didn’t want to do a blood transfusion, but they took forever to do tests and finally get you on an IV. You were barely conscious and still fighting them from putting it in your arm.”

“Hm,” Monk grunted. “The killers?”

“The woman got shot,” Natalie said, holding his hand with both of hers. “Last I heard, they don’t think she’ll survive. They almost got the man, but he escaped. The cops are still looking for him.”

A knock came at the door and Natalie saw Randy and the Captain walk in. Randy held up flowers and a balloon.

“How generous, thank you! Come on in, he just woke up!” Natalie exclaimed, gesturing them over.

“Hey buddy,” Stottlemeyer greeted. Monk squinted up at them against his head pain and waved.

Randy cheerfully said, “Thanks to you guys, we at least got one suspect in custody.” He put the flowers on the bedside table. “Who knew sending civilians back to the crime scene would work as bait?”

The Captain glared at Randy.

“Obviously, that wasn’t our plan,” Randy hurried to add. “And we’re sorry it happened. Glad everyone’s okay.”

“Exactly,” the Captain said. “Unfortunately, the woman’s accomplice is still MIA.”

Natalie gave Monk a sip of water. He took it gingerly and tried to clear his throat.

“Could you turn down the lights, a little?” Monk murmured. “It’s really bright in here.” Stottlemeyer reached behind to the lights.

It was morning now, just after 8:00 in the morning, and some sun was starting to peer in through the gray clouds and window blinds. It had rained the previous night when the police found Monk and Natalie; that was a few hours after the abduction. The ambulance had eventually arrived, and they were taken to the ER. Natalie had also been checked for any neck injury or physical trauma.

Randy and Stottlemeyer explained to them that they had been abducted and held in an abandoned shack 30 miles from the warehouse. When the officer on duty finally noticed that Natalie's car was still at the warehouse even though Monk and Natalie hadn't been seen at the warehouse for hours—he had assumed they left—he called it in. 

The police force immediately kicked into gear, because based on how these kidnappers worked, time was of the essence. The man had escaped, but he had suffered a bullet wound and couldn't possibly get too far without leaving a trace. The woman wasn't so lucky: a ricocheted bullet had pierced a major artery in her heart, and the internal bleeding made survival chances slim.

"We hope we can question her if she regains consciousness," Randy said.

"She called the man her brother. Orion, like the constellation. And she called herself Circinnia," Monk recalled. He took another sip of water; he was thirstier than he had realized. 

Randy wrote that down, and the Captain leaned closer.

"What else did she say to you?"

Monk shook his head as if to clear it. The memories were fuzzy, and it took effort to clear them, like dusting off a forgotten vase on a shelf. 

When he moved his head, Monk noticed that a large bandage covered the left side of his neck. He glanced down at it curiously, what he could see of it. 

He rubbed the side of his face tiredly. "Well...she said we were out of her depth. The police department."

"So she was taunting us," the Captain mused. "Maybe that's why she targeted you, to send a message."

"She knew I was a detective," Monk affirmed.

"What else happened? What do you remember?" The Captain asked intently. On the other side of the bed, Natalie shot him a warning look.

"Natalie was knocked out, I was hit over the head and tied to a chair. The woman...bit me," Monk said, immediately grimacing and gesturing to his neck. "She said she was capturing people because she liked how they smell. She then tried to drink my blood." Monk shuddered in revulsion, remembering the sickly feeling of her hot breath and smooth teeth on his neck.

"Ech! That is so disgusting," Natalie exclaimed.

"What the hell? So she and her brother are killing people and drinking their blood? That’s a whole new level of twisted,” Stottlemeyer said, torn between being disgusted, appalled, and befuddled. _What the hell were they dealing with?_

"She mentioned something about drugging me.” Monk closed his eyes and tried to remember. "Maybe they also use drugs."

"Wannabe-Vampire Drug Addict Siblings," Randy muttered in amazement, jotting in his notebook, already piecing together nicknames.

Monk’s eyes widened in alarm. Natalie rubbed Monk’s arm reassuringly. "But the doctors did blood tests and didn't find any drugs in Mr. Monk's system,” she commented. “If there was something, it must have disappeared quickly."

Even after he had finished his cup of water, Monk was still thirsty, and he still felt like he was hit by a ton of bricks. He struggled more and more to keep his eyes open. Natalie noticed the drained look on his face.

“Alright, I think that’s all for now,” Natalie said, rising up, leading the men out. “He needs some rest; you can continue questioning him later.”

“Thanks Natalie,” Stottlemeyer said. He waved over her shoulder. “Feel better, Monk! We’ll talk soon.”

Monk nodded and drowsily waved after them.

Natalie stopped the Captain a few paces outside of the doorway.

“By the way, how did you find us so fast?"

The Captain exchanged a knowing smile with Randy. "Not from 911. As soon as the officers at the scene noticed you two were missing and saw your car still parked in front of the warehouse, and they called it in, we tracked Monk's cell phone."

Natalie's grinned despite herself. "Ha! You did?!"

"Best Christmas gift I've ever given or received: a bugged cell phone for Adrian Monk." Still chuckling, the Captain and Randy left. Natalie went back to Monk, who was already sleeping soundly. She collapsed into her chair beside his bed, thinking that was a pretty good idea.


	4. Chapter 4

The afternoon sunshine glittered on the balloons on Monk’s bedside table. When Monk had woken up again, the light strained his eyes, but he gradually got used to it as Natalie had refused to shut the blinds completely. 

“The vitamin D will do you good,” she said cheerily, adjusting the blinds and making visible a breeze-tousled tree in late summer bloom.

Natalie put in a purposeful effort to be positive. In the years she had known Monk, she could tell it always helped when she was the yin to Monk’s grumpy, gloomy yang; and although he never said it, she could tell he appreciated how she provided a much-needed stabilizing balance in his life. 

At the moment, she was the calm and optimistic one, listening to all the doctors and nurses, and Monk was the panicking one as each minute of the hospital stay ticked on.

"You went into hypovolemic shock from the blood loss," the doctor explained. "Thankfully, you didn't lose enough blood loss to require a transfusion. We put you on an IV and ran some blood tests. After a few days of rest and proper nutrition, you'll be as good as new."

"Isn't that good news, Mr. Monk?" Natalie beamed, rubbing his shoulder.

Monk was squeezing his eyes shut in horror, stealing glimpses of the IV needle in his arm, like a kid on a roller coasting opening his eyes every few seconds despite himself to remember that it's all too frightfully real.

He pursed his lips. "Please get it out, please," he gasped. "Oh God. Natalie, needles. I hate needles."

Natalie smiled apologetically at the doctor. "Sorry, he has a bit of a phobia towards needles. And also heights, germs, snakes, and ladybugs...and milk… A lot of things."

Natalie suddenly heard what she was saying and she chuckled dismissively, waving her hand and shrugging it off as no big deal. She was defensive of any doctors judging Monk for just being who he was. As her hand held his, she thought tenderly, _this is our normal._

"I have the full list of 311 at home," Monk added weakly. "I was able to cross off claustrophobia in group therapy recently."

To his credit, the doctor didn’t bat an eye at his phobic patient’s behavior. He smiled slightly in kind understanding. Natalie felt relieved. 

"And I am so proud of you for that, Mr. Monk," Natalie said, smile in her voice, and she squeezed his hand. Monk whimpered, eyes still shut tight. "Doctor, the IV—?"

"Well, we've kept him overnight and all morning, so I guess it won't hurt," the doctor acquiesced. He moved forward to remove the IV. "But make sure he gets lots of fluids. He needs nutrients and sugars to replenish what he lost. I suggest something like orange juice, as well as multivitamin supplements."

"Thank you, doctor," Natalie said.

The doctor nodded. "Call us if you need anything."

Monk opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as he bent his arm up around the cotton ball and tape on the inside crook of his elbow which replaced the huge needle that, he feared, could cut all the veins in his arm to ribbons with the slightest movement.

"That better?"

"Oh yeah," Monk sighed. He could finally focus, as always happened when the gigantic mental roadblock of a compulsion or phobia was finally removed from his path.

He felt the large bandage on his neck, and he recalled what Natalie had been saying moments before the doctor had arrived.

"So you fought off the killers with a shovel?" Monk asked in wonder, smiling slightly.

"Well, I woke up and got the woman off you, but the man took me off guard," Natalie said. "Luckily, the police arrived just in time."

Monk rubbed the side of his head. "I think I’m remembering more of it. The last bit is a blur."

"Well, don't you worry about it. The woman is in observation, and the police have a lot more information on the killers just based on what we’ve told them.”

Up until this moment, Monk had avoided thinking too much about the events of yesterday. However, now the foggy memories were beginning to come into sharp, uncomfortable focus…

The stale, claustrophobic space, the woman’s hot breath and hands on him, the putrid taste of the black blood she forced on him—

In a flash, Natalie rushed to his side with a small trash can. Monk looked at her like she had suddenly grown two heads.

"You looked like you were going to throw up for a second there," she explained in concern.

He took the trash can from her hand, grasping it like a lifeline. "I just might," he said weakly, before his eyebrows knit together in thought.

"So… _why_?" He asked, utterly bewildered.

"When the Captain visited, he mentioned it could be part of Satanic ritual behavior. Or Randy thought they're freaky vampire wannabes. Pretty gross either way," Natalie said.

"Yeah," Monk said. He gingerly felt the bandage and thought of the bite marks there, and the two puncture wounds on the victims' bodies.

"Hey, don't fiddle with that," Natalie insisted, swatting his hand away.

Monk grumbled in reply and worked his fingers on the hospital blanket instead, trying to smooth out the wrinkles.

Soon after, Monk was discharged from the hospital, and they stopped at Monk's apartment for lunch before his 3:00 o'clock session with Dr. Bell. Natalie threw together Monk's lunch of his daily turkey club: five slices of turkey, lightly toasted, hold the lettuce, bacon, and tomato.

"Alright, I can drop you off, but then I need to go home and check on Julie," Natalie said, buttering the toast. "She’ll be done with drama club soon. I have shopping to do too.”

"Can you pick up groceries for me too?" Monk asked. "I have a list. And a copy of the list if the first list gets lost." He took out a piece of paper from his brown jacket’s inner pocket, which had been carefully folded into a neat square.

"Of course," Natalie said, unfolding it and eyeing the lengthy list, mentally figuring how much shopping time she'd need, or rather how fast she would have to shop to get everything in time. 

Monk picked up a half of the sandwich to take a bite. His nose wrinkled. 

“What?” Natalie asked.

Monk shook his head and again tried to take a bite, but he stopped just before it reached his mouth, as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I think I’ll eat later,” he said, looking slightly queasy. 

“What’s wrong?” Natalie picked up the sandwich half still remaining on the plate. “Seems fine to me.”

Monk shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m…not hungry. Still nauseous, I guess.”

Monk’s wide-eyed nonchalance spoke volumes—Natalie knew he was a poor liar. Monk had been looking forward to finally leaving the hospital and its needles to come home and enjoy lunch, so she couldn’t understand why he was now denying he was hungry.

Acutely aware of the time, Natalie frowned at the sandwich and settled to compromise. She would usually insist harder on something like this and make him eat—she frequently had to. Monk could waste time for hours making a meal that had to be absolutely perfect. Or he would get caught in one of his cleaning spirals and end up starving himself for hours in distraction. One day recently he had told her how he had organized his cereal boxes for six hours that morning,** and he had ended up not eating all day. She glanced at her watch—this time it would have to wait.

“Okay, but you’ll need to have something after I pick you up from your session,” Natalie said, a little indulgently, almost as if he were a child that had talked himself out of eating his vegetables. “Deal?”

Monk nodded his agreement, and so before going home for the hour, Natalie dropped him off at Dr. Bell’s office.

* * *

"I just had to stop at home and change after the hospital," Monk was explaining. He had given Dr. Bell a brief overview of what had just happened in the last 24 hours. "Natalie made some lunch. She's home checking on Julie now."

"Kidnapping," Dr. Bell said, shaking his head. "That must have been a difficult experience, Adrian. What impresses me is the fact that you face the risk of dangers like these every day in your line of work, but it doesn’t hold you back. Were either of you hurt?"

Monk glanced down at his hands, his fingers nervously rubbing at his knuckles. "Natalie was checked for concussion and any other injuries at the hospital, but she was fine. I lost some blood, but nothing too serious."

"That seems lucky. From what I've seen in the news, those are seriously dangerous criminals you were going after."

"Dangerous, yes. One of them was shot, but the other got away. The police are searching for him now." Monk rubbed his forehead contemplatively. "I'm supposed to go to police headquarters after this to make my statement."

"You seem preoccupied, Adrian," Dr. Bell commented. "Can you tell me what is bothering you?"

Monk hesitated. "I don't want to talk to the police about it. It was..." Monk mouth twisted in a grimace as he looked down in discomfort. "...frankly, an upsetting experience."

"I imagine it would be," Dr. Bell commented. "But you've been in tough situations on the job before, Adrian. Kidnapping, hostage situations, fights...What was different about this time?"

"They were deranged," Monk explained, pulling the words out of himself with great effort. "I was tied to a chair, and the woman bit me, was drinking my blood, as they might have done to all the other victims." 

Monk angled his neck a bit, the bandage peeking out over the top of his safely fully-buttoned collar. Monk adjusted his shoulder and self-consciously pulled his collar back over the bandage.

"However, the most...disgusting part is that she cut herself and tried to get me to drink her blood. I couldn't move. I tried to fight it, to push her off, but she had drugged me somehow. Then, as I said, Natalie woke up, untied me, and the police arrived. But before Natalie intervened...the woman could have killed me. I had absolutely no control over what was happening."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Adrian. That sounds horrifying; I can hardly imagine what that experience must have put you through.” Dr. Bell paused and leaned forward slightly, his thoughtful gaze caring and unwavering. “You know, sometimes the thing that makes moments like that so frightening isn’t necessarily the danger, but that sense of loss of control. It's not unlike the existential, freezing fear we feel when we are faced with the unknown. How exactly did you feel, in that moment?" He looked intently at Monk.

Monk shifted in his seat and picked at the arm rest with one of his nervous hands. “I guess…Scared. Helpless. Repulsed. Ashamed."

“Why ashamed?” Dr. Bell probed.

Monk shrugged and shifted in his chair, his discomfort elevating visibly as he looked down. “Nothing new there; I always am.” He flashed Dr. Bell a pained smile. 

Despite Monk’s feigned nonchalance and attempted levity, however, Bell could see through it. After his first sessions with Adrian Monk over a year and a half ago, Bell had already sensed that Adrian had a profound well of nervousness and shame that stemmed from somewhere deep within him. Part of it was in-born temperament, there was no doubt, and upbringing surely played a major role; but Bell always wanted to probe deeper into the mystery of this man. 

Sure, for over a decade after Adrian’s wife’s death, Dr. Kroger had done a magnificent job helping Adrian majorly through his traumatic grief and phobias. But to Bell, there were many more missed opportunities and avenues of healing that Charles Kroger hadn’t had time to explore. Maybe it was true that Adrian was a “difficult patient,” as Dr. Kroger had once reflected in early session notes. Bell knew it took a long time for Adrian to get comfortable, and to find the courage to talk about things. Be that as it may, it only encouraged Dr. Bell to try harder. Therefore, it was a good thing he had the two most indispensable talents in a psychologist’s toolkit: he had an abundance of patience, and he was a great listener.

Every session, through listening and learning, Bell hoped to get closer to that source of shame, fear, and anxiety flowing from the core of Adrian Monk: all in order to one day help him stem the wound’s flow, and help the man to heal.

These broader issues at the heart of Adrian were too heavy and complex a topic to dive into directly—such themes were only gently hinted at in sessions, and then discussion tactfully encouraged, if and when the moment was appropriate for it—so Dr. Bell put a mental pin in it for another time.

He nodded thoughtfully and focused on another thing Adrian had said. "Does helplessness repulse you?"

"Well, I shouldn't have felt it. I don't like—” Monk shook his head, struggling to express exactly what he meant. “I hate the feeling. Of being helpless."

"Hm,” Bell thought aloud. “You know, helplessness, the loss of control—in life, we cannot always avoid these feelings, as unpleasant as they are. Any time we face change, and loss, we get that feeling of lack of control over our lives," Dr. Bell said, and paused. "We like to think we're masters of our own fate, that nothing can go wrong, but then life pulls the rug out from under us."

"Adrian—" Monk met Dr. Bell's gaze tentatively. "I think you've had more than your share of that feeling in your lifetime, far more than many people have had."

Trudy vividly shone in his mind’s eye, appearing as beautiful and angelic as ever. Monk gave a nearly imperceptible nod; his jaw worked a little as his eyes grew soft with a teary glaze. He glanced away from Dr. Bell and back again.

"What I'm saying is sometimes we need to accept the things we can't control. When we accept our negative feelings, like anger or helplessness or shame or grief, rather than push them away, we take responsibility. We gain back that control," Dr. Bell said rousingly. Eyeglasses in hand, he gestured at Monk. "Only then can you release yourself from the guilt and regretful thinking that you could have, or should have, done something differently."

"Meaning I shouldn't feel bad for the things that happen that I can’t control," Monk said.

"Exactly."

"But how do I know what I can or can't control?" Monk asked, rubbing a hand on his pants leg, and then pausing as he squinted down and tried to smooth out a wrinkle. He pulled off a white—apparently cat—hair. "I couldn't live in such a chaotic world.” It seemed almost laughable, Monk thought, what Dr. Bell was suggesting.

"We figure it out, with the benefit of hindsight," Dr. Bell said, smiling slightly. "Also known as the wisdom of experience."

Monk snorted. "'Experienced.' Natalie said that to me recently, I think as a rib against my age. I don’t _think_ she necessarily intended to be insulting.”

Dr. Bell chuckled. "Just what a man wants to hear. Just don't say it back to her." Dr. Bell's eye caught the clock on the wall behind Monk. "Well, that's our time for today."

Monk nodded and rubbed his hand on his forehead tiredly. Bell noticed that he had more pronounced circles under his eyes; no wonder, after what he had been through. It was clear the detective needed some rest.

"What is it?" Dr. Bell asked, concerned.

"A headache," Monk sighed. "I'm feeling drained. I haven't eaten anything yet today. I don't know why, I'm just feeling nauseous. But I need to go in and help with the case, so….” He shrugged wearily.

"Adrian, after what you've been through in the last twenty-four hours, I think you should stay home and rest. You need proper nourishment, too. It would be irresponsible to not take care of yourself after such an ordeal," he insisted.

Monk stood up, gripping the chair when he wavered a bit. Dr. Bell reached forward and grabbed his arm, alarmed. "Didn't Natalie get you something to eat?"

"She made me lunch, but I felt too sick to eat it," Monk admitted.

"Well, have her make you something easy and nutritious. Those are your doctor's orders. No going anywhere else today," Dr. Bell said firmly, yet gently. "Take a break from the case."

Dr. Bell walked Monk out to the waiting area, arm lightly around him. Natalie was waiting for them in a chair and smiled up as they approached, but then her expression shifted to concern as she stood up and stepped toward them.

"What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

Monk stood on his own fine, but still looked drawn.

Dr. Bell said to Natalie, "He'll be fine if he takes the rest of the day to rest and recuperate. He went through an ordeal. Don't let him do any consulting business. Doctor's orders," he affirmed with a pointed finger and reassuring smile.

"Is that a new cologne you have on? I just noticed it," Monk said, looking over at him curiously. "It smells nice."

Dr. Bell was bemused. "Nothing new, Adrian, but I'll take that as a compliment." He patted Monk on the shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. "Feel better. See you on Wednesday."

He nodded to them both and went back to his office.

"That's a new cologne," Monk mused. "I know what his old one smelled like. Woodsy, like nature. Blegh." He stuck his tongue out distastefully like a five-year-old.

"Come on," Natalie smiled, hooking arms with Monk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Monk mentioned this in the episode "Mr. Monk and the Voodoo Curse," I kid you not. I don't even know how it's even physically possible to dedicate six entire hours to organizing cereal, but if anyone can manage it, Monk can! LOL. Maybe he accidentally dumped a box and had to count each piece to make sure it was a multiple of ten, haha.


End file.
